


Day 19: Christmas songs

by ConsultingPurplePants



Series: 25 Days of Fic-Mas (originally posted to tumblr) [19]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Magical Realism, Retirement, Sequel, they are wrinkly and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 16:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5464016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingPurplePants/pseuds/ConsultingPurplePants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is having déjà-vu.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 19: Christmas songs

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Looks like I'm doing the sequel thing again, today. This story is a sequel to [Day 5: Ghost of Christmas Past](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5358020). Hope you guys enjoy!

John is muttering along to _Silver Bells_ as he putters slowly around the kitchen making tea. Sherlock, who in recent years has very much become a grumpy old man, had refused to allow him to play any songs with words, so they had compromised by playing a CD full of violin-only versions of classic Christmas songs. There was never any mention of _them_ not singing the words, however (Sherlock is clearly losing his touch), which is how John now gets away with singing every Christmas song along with the CD. This should have been torturous for Sherlock, because if anything, John has become even more tone-deaf with age, but Sherlock finds it endearing instead.

John somehow manages to fix them both tea while avoiding any contact with the bowl of thawing thumbs under their table-top Christmas tree, a skill that has taken him many years to acquire. He’s still humming along under his breath as he brings both mugs into the sitting room, placing them within reach on the coffee table before collapsing heavily onto the sofa with Sherlock and groaning.

“I swear, in the next few years I’ll be lucky if I can make tea in under an hour,” he laughs, rubbing the sore joints on his hands. Sherlock pulls one hand towards him and starts massaging it, arthritis having spared him so far in his old age. Sherlock rearranges them so that John is pressed into his side and Sherlock is holding John’s wizened, liver-spotted hand in his lap, gazing at it thoughtfully. It may have been nearly thirty years, now, but Sherlock never tires of the sight of the wedding ring on John’s finger glinting in the soothing fire light. He glances down at his matching one and smiles, letting himself sink further into the sofa cushions, and John sighs against him as Sherlock presses a kiss to the top of his once-blonde head. They sit there for a while in silence (aside from John’s off-key humming), simply enjoying each other’s presence, until John stops humming and looks up at him.

“D’you remember our first Christmas in Baker Street together?” Sherlock nods, not sure where John is going with this. His deductions have slowed down, but he never finds it frustrating when John manages to surprise him.

John snuggles a little closer before continuing. “I know I had a girlfriend at the time –,” Sherlock snorts loudly before letting John finish, “—but I couldn’t keep my eyes off you all night.”

Sherlock glances down at him, surprised, before thinking that this confession brings to mind a familiar scene. He can’t quite place it, though, and hopes his brain manages to catch up as John continues telling the story.

“You looked amazing. The fire was lighting you up in all the right ways, your cheekbones looked even sharper,” he breaks off for a moment, running his fingers along them and smiling softly. “Kind of like now! And you were just… beautiful. You’re always beautiful.”

Sherlock hums happily in reply, just as he starts to realize why this is all sounding so familiar. He has a flash of watching himself at that Christmas party, seeing John’s eyes on him as if he was the only person in the room. John looks at him like that all the time, now, even when Sherlock is looking at him, but the first time he had seen that look, John hadn’t known he was watching. The point of view of that memory makes no sense, however, and he pushes the sudden thought of Mycroft from his mind as John goes on.

“The two Christmases after that were awful.” John shudders at the thought, and Sherlock squeezes his hand reassuringly, a brief _I’m never leaving you again_ , as _Silver Bells_ continues in the background. “I mean, I had Mary. And it was supposed to be nice. Just the two of us for Christmas. But she wasn’t you. Obviously.”

John squeezes Sherlock’s hand back as John’s haggard face appears in Sherlock’s mind, unbidden. Sherlock is briefly reminded of his stint in a Serbian prison cell, veins bursting with hallucinogens (he’d thought he’d seen _Redbeard_ , of all things). But now, something is nagging at his mind, something more than the drugs he had thought he’d been given.

“But this. I never… I never thought I could have this. With you. I’ve wanted this since even before that first Christmas. Christmas like this, just the two of us, for the rest of our lives.”

Sherlock smiles down at him, and John pushes himself up just enough to press a soft kiss to his smiling mouth. John’s laugh lines crinkle as he grins up at him (so many of them, now, Sherlock must have done _something_ right in his life), his love so clearly written in his expression, and for the second time in this exact moment, the truth hits Sherlock like a lorry.

John is wearing an old, rumpled, cable-knit oatmeal jumper and a pair of comfortable jeans. Sherlock is wearing an old pair of pyjamas and a dressing gown, and he’s seen this exact scene, just from a different perspective. John reaches up to brush a stray grey curl from his forehead and tuck it behind his ear, and Sherlock sees how their matching rings sparkle with the movement, and suddenly there are tears of happiness flowing down his face. _He’s made it_. John is looking at him with concern, now, but Sherlock is so incandescently happy he can’t speak.

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock finally manages to force words through his smile. “John, I… I never thought I could have this either. Of course I wanted it, I’ve wanted it since the first time I clapped eyes on you, but… This. This exact moment. I never knew I could have it, but I do, now, and I…” He breaks off, tears blurring his vision, but John understands. John always understands.

John pulls him down into a hug, pressing his face into his neck as the tears flow from Sherlock’s eyes. “I love you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock squeezes him even tighter as he replies, “I love you too, John. I always have.”

And if he suddenly feels like they’re being watched, it doesn’t matter, because his past self needs to know. He needs to know that it’s time to go home to John… to go home to _this._


End file.
